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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547792">Don't Judge Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmy/pseuds/wyrmy'>wyrmy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Our Hopes of Endless Light [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale was a Cherub, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, First Time, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt very little comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, none of this is remotely crowley's fault</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:46:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmy/pseuds/wyrmy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After consummating his relationship with Crowley, Aziraphale is forced to reflect on what his expectations were and whether they were reasonable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Our Hopes of Endless Light [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't Judge Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The M rating is because while there isn't a sex scene in the fic and the least explicit language possible is used, this is basically a fic about sex. This is very much not something I ever thought I would write and I'm consequently a bit nervous. But this concept wormed itself into my brain and wouldn't leave, so here it is. "Even though you say that you love me, is it me or do you love my disguise?"- Janelle Monae, "Don't Judge Me"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Was that alright?” said Aziraphale, somewhat out of breath.
</p>
<p> “Was great, angel,” said Crowley in a sleepy voice. “It was terrific.” 
</p>
<p>Aziraphale watched him very intently, hoping to tell if he was telling the truth or not. It had certainly seemed like Crowley had enjoyed himself, but Aziraphale wasn’t in the habit of trusting appearances. “There wasn’t anything you would want me to do differently, next time?”</p><p> It suddenly occurred to Aziraphale that Crowley might not want a next time, depending on how well he’d done. </p><p>“I dunno, angel,” said Crowley lazily, twisting his head to softly kiss Aziraphale’s shoulder, “you’ve kind of robbed me of my rational faculties just this second, which is evidence in of itself.”</p><p> “Oh stop it, you fiend! That tickles.” Crowley ceased and desisted his kissing. </p><p>“Seriously, angel, I don’t have any of those little, oh wossname, you know the little things with the numbers on that the judges hold up in the air at sports thingies. I just, you know, it was really, really good. I had an amazing time” He said this last with his face half-buried in the gap between Aziraphale’s arm and the bed. </p><p>Aziraphale felt an odd sort of thrill hearing those words of praise. “So did I,” he said, voice inexplicably rough. </p><p>“Mnh,” said Crowley, and squiggled a bit closer, resting his cheek in the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder."Goodnight, Angel." </p><p> They lay for a while under the covers while Crowley drifted off. Eventually Aziraphale discovered that he was crying. The most wonderful, beautiful man in the world was asleep next to him, but he felt strangely drained of feeling, drained of his capacity for happiness. He lay perfectly still, spine straight as always, his fat legs lifted slightly so as not to crush Crowley’s thin ones where they were all tangled together.</p><p> He should have felt relieved. When it was over, he’d even thought to himself, what a relief, but his brain was buzzing as if in the absence of anything concrete to worry about, it was worrying about nothing in particular. And he was crying. </p><p>Aziraphale watched the slow rise and fall of Crowley’s breath and reflected to himself that at the very least he knew now that he was able to satisfy his partner in bed. That was something, anyway, for the act itself had been considerably different to what he’d been expecting. It had felt pleasant, to be sure, although Aziraphale had been obliged not to think about that too much, at the risk of losing his concentration. Crowley had been, well, lovely and wonderful as always, even in a situation markedly different to any Aziraphale had previously seen him in.</p><p> But when he’d fantasized, and he had fantasized fervently over the years, he’d always imagined that this ultimate act of intimacy and vulnerability would be a spiritual and emotional event. He had expected it to be earth shattering in every sense of the expression, to be romantic beyond words, love made tangible, love made transformative. Instead, he had spent most of it worrying about angles and speeds and other technical things, or else that he was making an unattractive face or an undignified noise. He had fulfilled several thousand years’ worth of desperate fantasy while thinking about his bloody finances, and anything else unsexy that he could come up with.</p><p> While he’d imagined moments of empathic understanding ( something he’d never been much good at), or at the least of a more powerful feeling of closeness, lying in the dark of his bedroom with his beloved in his arms Aziraphale had never felt further away from Crowley. </p><p>In some ways he was truly upset by his own capacity for self-sabotage. No one was to blame for his anxious state but he, for he was the one who had lied, after all. In the delicate negotiations which research had indicated must proceed the act itself Crowley had disclosed that he had had relations before, with humans, and Aziraphale, acting on pure panic, had said the same. Why had he done it? Even now he wasn’t entirely certain. He’d had only a split second to guess what Crowley might want to hear. </p><p>Part of it had been because he didn’t want to come across as more “pure” or “virtuous” than Crowley, which he knew was something Crowley was a little sensitive about. A large part of it was that he didn’t want Crowley to have to cater to or focus on him. Over all the years of their acquaintance, it had always been Crowley who reached out, who bought little gifts or provided rescues, and Aziraphale frankly felt deeply guilty about that fact now. Crowley deserved to be looked after, to be prioritized, since surely no-one had ever done that for him before. </p><p>But the other reason, he thought now, as he wept his selfish, self-indulgent tears, was that he was ashamed of his own cowardice. It was true that he had no pure motive for his past chastity. He had been afraid, pure and simple, of the whipping or worse that he might incur for being with a human. He was weak enough to be tempted, weak enough to be cruel to Crowley, and weak to think, first, always, of his own hypothetical physical pain before all other considerations. He had been weak and frightened and ashamed and thus thoroughly, thoroughly unlovable for six thousand years and now at last, he was going to change. He could make himself worthy of love, for Crowley’s sake. </p><p>But two weeks after falsifying his sexual history, he felt insecure and unworthy all the same. He had spent the past two weeks engrossed in every book about sexual technique he could find, emerging dizzily into the light only to go on dates with Crowley, where he tried to act suave and unbothered and not like someone cramming for the world’s horniest o-level. It had all achieved a depressing semblance to mathematics after a certain point and he still didn’t know what he was bloody doing.</p><p> It was a trial that he deserved to endure, he knew. It didn’t make it very easy. </p><p>Aziraphale shifted his position a bit so that he was more closely wrapped around Crowley. He eventually drifted off to sleep, for the first time in several years. </p><p>Aziraphale dreamt.</p><p> Crowley had wanted to meet him for a date at a specific restaurant but Aziraphale had gotten distracted, and then he had gotten lost, and now he was practically running, fleeing exhilarated and terrified, miraculously not colliding with humans. Aziraphale threw himself around corners and darted between obstacles before almost leaping up the steps of the restaurant. He checked the time on his pocket watch only to find with a lurch that he was catastrophically late. He hurried over to where Crowley was sitting, sunglasses and winter coat on, at a table and sat down opposite, babbling apologies. </p><p>“You’re late,” said Crowley. </p><p>“So sorry. I found a bit of damp in the shop that I had to deal with, and then I got lost- silly me! I was certainly in a hurry to get here after that, I can tell you.”</p><p> “You’re usually late, though, aren’t you, champ?”</p><p> “I- I don’t-” Crowley voice was <em>wrong</em>, somehow.</p><p> “You’re too slow, buddy. It’s not your fault, I guess. You’ve probably been like this from the start, right? You’re always going to be too slow for me.” Crowley took off his sunglasses and his eyes were purple.</p><p> Aziraphale lurched backwards, hands raised protectively, but now he was in the desert east of Eden, where they’d put him after his demotion. The places where they’d cut out his cherub wings and heads were burning like red-hot metal on his skin. He staggered on the hot sand, half-mad with pain and the relentless, boiling sun. </p><p>It was night still when he woke to Crowley stoking his hair. </p><p>“You’re okay, my angel. You’re alright now.” </p><p>He was tightly wrapped in blankets and extremely overheated. He was crying again. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, extricating a hand with some difficulty in order to wipe at his face. “I must have fallen asleep.” </p><p>“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Crowley continued to pet him like an animal and to murmur comfortingly to him.</p><p> “I think you had a nightmare,” continued Crowley. “You were thrashing around and getting tangled up.” </p><p>“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. He wanted to apologize for waking Crowley but he thought that would seem a bit mad, and besides which, the way Crowley was petting him felt nice. When, at length, Crowley stopped doing it and lay down to sleep next to him, he felt bereft. </p><p>He lay awake in darkness the rest of the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am heavily indebted to AO3 user BuggerAlleThis (i cant figure how to link their account, sorry) for their headcanon about Aziraphale having been a cherub who was demoted down to prinicpality. One of their fics is in my bookmarks if you want to find them and read any of their work. Anyway I hope you enjoyed! more is on the way.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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